


The Opposite of People

by RogueBelle



Category: Kushiel's Legacy - Jacqueline Carey
Genre: 10x100, Drabble Sequence, Eglantine House, F/M, Romance, The Night Court, Vignette, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-02
Updated: 2011-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-15 08:03:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueBelle/pseuds/RogueBelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exploring life in the Night Court, in the house of players and dramatists. 10 vignettes out of the life of Mirielle nó Eglantine, resident diva.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Opposite of People

"I knew your mother," Leone said. "We were children together, in Dahlia."

"So... That makes us near-kin, then," the girl said, smiling. Roses stood bright in her cheeks, and Leone saw a mischievous spark winking in her emerald eyes. "I shan't feel lonely at all, if I'm still among family."

Laughing, Leone pinched Miri's cheek affectionately. "Imp. I suppose there are worse ways to think of it. Welcome to Eglantine."

As Carmelle led the girl off, Julien leant over and said, "That one'll be trouble in six or eight years."

Leone snorted. "Six? I think she'll be trouble in _three_."

\--

It began, as so many great romances do, with a pulled curl.

Etienne couldn't have explained why he was unable to resist. They hadn't done anything to him. But there they were, golden tendrils intertwined with green ribbons, bobbing gently every time Mirielle moved her head. How could he possibly be expected to keep his attention on their Caerdicci lesson?

He hadn't expected to unleash such pandemonium. After a good shriek, Mirielle, forgetting all her Dahlia-bred dignity, launched herself over the back of her chair and started pummeling him, with Inigo, the traitor, laughing riotously and Zoé egging her on.

\--

The scent of flowers hung heavy in the summer night's air, and Mirielle told herself she was intoxicated on the joy of being at her first ball as a proper apprentice rather than on the _la fee verte_ she and Zoé had sneaked. Zoé had a case of the giggles, and Mirielle swung one foot lazily in the courtyard fountain.

"Corentine!" Mirielle shouted, when the yellow-eyed girl, three years her junior, appeared around a column. "You simply must try this, come join us!"

Corentine smiled, but shook her head. "You're looked for," she warned. "Best hurry back to the hall."

\--

Eglantine House prided itself on its adepts' debut ball being rather above the quality of the other Houses. "No standing around looking pretty here," Leone had said, pinching color into Miri's cheeks. "We expect better."

And so Mirielle twisted her fingers, waiting for Calandre to finish the elegant movement she was playing on her lyre. "First the monologue from _Orfeo_ ," she whispered to herself, "then the scene from _The Maiden's Tragedy_ with Jules."

"And then," Etienne said, kissing the back of her neck, "you come find me, and I'll get you a nice glass of _joie_ to calm your nerves."

\--

The floor show was only the beginning of the evening, but it set the tone. Heloise kicked into an impromptu cartwheel, her frothy skirts swirling in the air; the movement was fast, affording only the briefest view of her slim ankles in the air, but it was enough to set the crowd to howling. Zoé gathered her petticoats up in her hands and rustled them in the direction of a young Vicomte sitting at a nearby table, winking saucily at him. When he blushed profusely, Mirielle laughed and shouted to Zoé above the music. "Think it's his first time out?"

\--

"I don't like him."

Mirielle gave him a pointed look in the mirror, then resumed dusting powder on her nose. "What makes the Comte any different from every other patron I have?"

Etienne sat back against the pillows, folding his arms. "He thinks he owns you."

"If he's willing to make my marque, he can _think_ whatever he likes." She flicked her brush and looked back at him over her shoulder. "Doesn't make it true."

The stubborn set entered Etienne's jaw. "He's dangerous, Miri."

"La."

"I mean it! That look he gets..."

"Jealous men see with tinted vision," Mirielle chirped.

\--

"You could be so much more than this."

"What more could I want, Adrien?" Miri laughed. "My friends are here. I have my pick of roles. Never mind Marcelline and Didiane, what would life be without a little competition? And anyway, the audiences adore me. And I could be Dowayne in twenty years' time, if I wish."

"No." The curl of his fingers along the underside of her jaw arrested her breath, made her heart give a half-excited, half-frightened flutter, and threw her entirely off of her well-rehearsed patter. "I could make so much more of you, Mirielle nó Eglantine."

\--

"Would you care to acknowledge the work?" Mirielle said with a teasing grin, mockingly echoing the words she'd spoken to Leone earlier that evening.

"Oh, I would," Etienne replied, grinning broadly. With wanton glee dancing in her eyes, Miri slid the violet silk robe off of her shoulders, turning around just before the fabric would have slipped below her nipples. The lines of the marque etched delicately up her spine, spring green tendrils curling and weaving together, the five-petaled pink-and-white flowers accenting her shoulderblades.

Etienne's fingers hovered above the red-rimmed new marks, still slightly swollen. "You're a free d'Angeline now."

\--

Unusual for the Night Court, Eglantine adepts knew how to wield blades, and not just for show. Fencing was a form of entertainment, and Etienne had taken to it early in life. But Adrien de Faucon was no pampered nobleman who had only played with blunted blades; he was a military leader, had fought pirates off the coast of the Balears and had helped Celio y Aragon defend his throne.

Both men had the cold, killing gleam in their eyes, and for the first time, Miri was frightened, rather than exhilarated, by the prospect of two men fighting over her.

\--

The applause was like a drug, better than joie, better than _la fee verte_. While the hirelings trimmed the candles and Fantina sang a duet with Antoine from the musicians' gallery, Mirielle sagged against the wall of the tiring-room, a hand clasped to her chest. The last scene in Act Two was an emotional wringer, and it always took her a moment or two afterwards to stop trembling. _'Nothing tops this feeling,'_ she thought. _'Exhilirated, alive... Nothing like it.'_

But then she stepped out onto the boards for the start of Act Three, and met Etinne's eyes across the stage.


End file.
